


Yellow Morning

by Miri Cleo (miri_cleo)



Category: Kings
Genre: F/F, Femslash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-06
Updated: 2009-04-06
Packaged: 2017-10-02 07:14:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miri_cleo/pseuds/Miri%20Cleo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The King’s secrets were hers; the Queens secrets were hers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yellow Morning

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own them  
> A/N: A post ep vignette of sorts for 1.04 (1.03, depending on how you are labeling the pilot): First Night.

Thomasina watched Silas leave the room and fell in step behind him, her feet a little heavier as Helen’s cries rang through the hall. What would the woman who had thanked her just hours before have to say to her now? She kept her eyes ahead. The King’s secrets were hers; the Queen’s secrets were hers.

In the beginning, some of them had been innocent enough, but there was little of that left between them. Her burdens grew increasingly heavy, but Thomasina bore them gracefully. She never bowed her head under them, never broke. She bore them until she was shadow, just like them.

Even though this time Thomasina sat in the front, she could feel Silas’s eyes staring through her into the yellow morning. She would have to see that his injuries were tended to, despite that he would not want to be bothered. She would have to see that his absence was explained, that the ruined car was explained. For Silas, she found explanations and forced solutions. That was why the guards were afraid of her.

But he stared through her and looked passed her as much as he turned to her. She would have to explain to Rose before he could do it himself.

“There is a use for every situation,” she would murmur, kissing her queen’s ear and persisting even though she knew Rose would try to turn away. She knew what Rose would want to hear, would need to hear, and that made it easy to push any feelings she might have had about their secrets into dust.

The Queen needed fewer answers, few explanations; a look, touch, or a small word was sometimes Thomasina’s only clue that something was to be done. But her intimate knowledge of Rose came from more than just secrets. Thomasina had placated her with caresses, long fingers trailing over Rose’s cheeks, teasing her nipples; she had silenced Rose’s outrage time and against with fierce kisses.

She had smoothed the Queen’s silks skirts and stiff collars as much as she had rumpled them, pressing her fingers up and into Rose forcefully as she whispered words of calm in her ears. And as they neared the palace, she longed for it, longed for her release, her reward for a night of the King’s pain and worry.

The Queen would be coming to meet the car; Thomasina pictured flashes of her through the high, clear windows, and she shifted in her seat.


End file.
